The Price of Passion

  The Price of passion

  The Legacy Series – Book 4

  Smashwords Edition

  Holland Legacy Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9972995-0-2

  Copyright © 2016 by Vicki Hopkins

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then please purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all authors.

  Work of Fiction

  This is a work of fiction. Places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental..

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  About the Legacy Series

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Alastair locked the door to his bedroom suite and dashed across to the other side. In a frenzied motion, he grabbed the handle to his closet, flung it open, and reached to the shelf above his head. Red-faced and burning with anger, he searched for the box. Unable to find it, he frantically tossed his belongings to the floor. At last the wooden case emerged, and Alastair snatched it from its hiding place.

  His heart pounded heatedly as he held the custom walnut case and considered the contents. Some time ago he purchased the item for display but never felt inclined to carry a weapon — at least not until today. He rubbed his hand along the wood grain and wiped away the dust. Inside lay a 1908 vest pocket Colt automatic pistol, which was more than adequate to do the job.

  Walking over to his writing table, he sat down and opened the lid. The casing of metal gun shimmered from the streaming light of his desk lamp. Alastair carefully pulled out the nickel-plated firearm by the ivory grip. His hand shook as he fingered the trigger. It would only take one shot to end the sordid affair.

  He laid the gun on the tabletop and examined the contents of the box. It contained the manufacturer’s cleaning tools, an empty magazine, and fifty-four .25-caliber bullets placed point down in round holes. The interior lid of the case included written instructions. Alastair briefly scanned the document until he felt confident in handling the weapon.

  Picking up the magazine, he opened the metal closure and then methodically removed six bullets. One by one he placed them in the metal container and then closed it shut. With force, he shoved it into the bottom grip of the gun and pushed it upward until it clicked. The firearm, no bigger than the palm of his hand, lay on his cold flesh, loaded and ready to hit its target.

  He jolted when hearing a loud pounding on his door.

  “Alastair, let me in!”

  “Go away, Grace,” he growled. “I have nothing to say.” After three more pounds of his sister’s fist, she bellowed again.

  “Let me in before you do something rash,” she howled.

  “Rash?” He rose from his chair and strode with heavy footsteps toward the door. In his right hand he clutched the loaded gun. “Do you think we should stand by and do nothing after what he has done to her?” His body trembled as he screamed his livid response.

  “Alastair, let me in,” Grace moaned, lowering her voice in a tearful plea.

  With his chest constricting in rage, he knew he had to shut her up or she would awaken the entire household. Her pounding heightened his agitated state.

  With his cold left hand, Alastair reached forward and turned the metal doorknob. Grace, surprised at his surrender, stood stiffly on the other side of the threshold. Her reddened face matched the color of her lipstick. When she glanced at his stance and noticed the gun clutched in his right hand, she gasped aloud.

  “What are you doing with that gun?”

  “It’s none of your business,” he barked. Alastair’s eyes grew dark. His soul hardened with disdain. He’d never felt such an urge to stop a wicked, beating heart in the chest of a man as he did at that moment. Besides, without her, his life held no value. The gallows would be sufficient to ease his emotional pain and well worth the spectacle of watching a blackguard die at his feet.

  “Where are you going?” Grace pitched forward and grabbed his arm.

  “Out of my way,” he demanded with clenched teeth. In a quick jerk he pulled free of her grasp and headed for the door.

  “No, Alastair! Don’t do this!”

  He would hear none of her pleas. Swiftly he ran down the stairs and heard the frantic footsteps of Grace follow closely behind. As he reached the front entrance and swung the door open, she clutched his arm tightly with both hands, digging her nails into the sleeve of his coat.

  “I beg of you, don’t do something you’ll regret,” she cried. Frightful tears moistened her eyes.

  Alastair gazed into his sister’s horrified countenance. “Let me go, Grace, before I am forced to hurt you.” It deeply pained his heart having to threaten her, but she needed to stop and leave him to carry out his intent.

  Astonished at his words, she quickly released him and stepped backward. Grace brought her hands to her mouth, trembling over his threat. Alastair said nothing more and walked into the night, hell-bent on killing the vilest human being on earth.

  Chapter One

  Robert Holland sat leisurely in the wingback chair, looking confident and at ease. One arm dangled over the side of the armrest while the other held a glass of Irish whiskey.

  “Let me get this straight,” Alastair said, glancing at his friend with suspicion. “You want me to approve your intentions to court my sister Grace.”

  “Yes, that is my request.”

  “And why on earth would I agree to let you play with her affections? You realize that I am acquainted with your reputation with the female population.”

  “Because, ole friend, I am a changed man.” Robert smirked.

  Alastair took a sip of his brandy and somberly stared at Robert. His longtime friend appeared too self-assured for his taste. He wanted to see him squirm like a worm in his new business attire. It would be a clever ploy to drag the conversation out a bit longer before giving his reluctant consent.

  For years he’d watched Robert pursue mindless and morally loose women for entertainment. It concerned Alastair that he had no real knowledge of how many he had bedded behind closed doors. Perhaps his actions had been merely for show to look superior to his cousin Geoffrey. Maybe underneath that blond head of hair and behind those blue eyes existed a moral and honest man.

  Alastair thoughtfully stroked his chin. No, he could not believe that Holland changed to such an exten
t or had not visited the underskirts of a few women recently. Truth be told, Alastair wrestled with his male urges, being the same age as Robert. The two of them were no different. Regrettably, the nagging question remained — would his friend respect his sister? He leaned forward and gazed into Robert’s determined gaze, looking for a hint of falsehood.

  “Why the sudden interest in Grace? For years you have not given my sister anything more than a mere glance or acknowledgment of her existence. Now you declare that you wish to pursue her affections.” He paused and frowned. “You must possess ulterior motives, and I will not allow you to ruin her reputation.” Alastair deepened his voice to accentuate the warning.

  Robert sighed and shifted in his seat. Apparently his assured confidence began to wane during his interrogation. The glass of whiskey that Alastair offered him earlier retained a small amount. Robert took the last sip and set the crystal on a side table.

  “I promised Jolene over a year ago that I would consider drawing closer to Grace, but life has kept me occupied with career matters. You know very well how much time I have spent these past eight months getting settled at the law firm.” Robert’s tone rose slightly, displaying his exasperation. “The demands of the business are grueling, to say the least.”

  “True,” Alastair said, nodding his head. “I will admit you barely have time for our friendship.” He gulped his last bit of brandy and set it down next to Robert’s empty glass. “What exactly attracts you to Grace that you suddenly find her of interest?” he inquired with a wary frown.

  Robert cleared his throat and lowered his head. “Well, she is quite attractive.” He grinned mischievously. “Not to mention well-mannered, accomplished, and from a good family,” his smooth voice boasted. “And from what I have heard from acquaintances, she has nurtured a silent crush on me for some time.”

  “Ha!” Alastair roared. “Who told you, Jolene?”

  “Well, she hinted that I should consider Grace because of her personality, but I surmised as much because of the way Grace regards me from afar and when we are near.” Robert paused. “You know that a man can tell when a lady has eyes for him.”

  “You are a damn rogue, Holland, and I don’t trust you.” Alastair’s brow wrinkled, half in doubt and anger. He was about to continue his rant when the door to the parlor flew open. Grace bounced across the threshold with a book in her hand. Her steps came to an abrupt halt when she saw Robert lounging in a chair next to Alastair on the divan.

  “Oh,” she said, raising her brow in surprise. “I apologize for intruding. No one told me that we had company.” She glanced over at Robert and attempted to restrain a smile.

  Alastair and Robert rose to their feet in unison to acknowledge her presence. “Well, since you arrived at an opportune time, why don’t you sit with us awhile?” He motioned to the seat next to him.

  “I don’t wish to intrude,” she said. “But if you insist.”

  Grace sauntered over to the divan and sat down, and the men returned to their seats. Robert eyed her before offering a compliment.

  “You look well this afternoon. Is that a new dress? I don’t recall seeing that particular pattern in your wardrobe before.”

  Alastair noted a distinct twinkle in Robert’s eyes as he inspected his sister’s new frock. The scoundrel already began his wiles of flattery.

  “Thank you,” Grace replied. “It is new.” She paused and gazed at him suspiciously. “However, I am a bit surprised, Robert, you even noticed. I don’t recall you expressing approval of my attire in the past,” she pointed out.

  Alastair chuckled approvingly at her guarded reply.

  “I have been neglectful indeed,” Robert replied. He sounded sickly sweet while justifying his newfangled attentiveness.

  “So,” Grace said cheerily, “what brings you to our humble home? Are you and Alastair planning future engagements with lady friends?” Grace quizzically glanced back and forth at them.

  Alastair sniggered and then cleared his throat. “You could say that,” he replied. His eyes shifted over to Robert, deciding to put him on the spot. “A few minutes ago Robert asked me for my permission to court you. What do you think, Grace? Shall I let him?”

  Grace gasped and dropped the book clutched in her hand. It landed with a thud at her feet, and a rosy blush flushed her cheeks. Robert played the hero and picked it up, handing it back to her with a smile.

  “I-I-” Grace stuttered, falling into a momentary silence. After regaining her composure, she continued. “Suddenly I’m at a loss for words.” Her eyes sparkled, and a flirtatious smile curled her lips.

  “Would you do the honor of having dinner with me tomorrow evening?” A broad grin spread across Robert’s face.

  “Now wait a minute,” Alastair interjected, annoyed. “I have not agreed to this arrangement yet.”

  “Oh, Alastair, why does he need your permission?” Grace chided. “You are not Father.” She flashed an irritated glare.

  “I doubt Father will be pleased either. He is acquainted with Robert’s reputation with the ladies,” he countered.

  Robert pursed his lips and returned an exasperated glance at Alastair. “I asked you because of my respect for you as my friend. It’s only fair to acknowledge my intentions regarding your sister.” In a surprise move, Robert leaned forward and grabbed Grace’s hand and held it tight.

  “So say yes, Miss Whitefield, that you will dine with me tomorrow evening.”

  Grace smiled demurely and lowered her eyes. A flush of shyness continued to tint her cheeks.

  “You know that I will, Robert. I can think of nothing else I would rather do.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Grace,” Alastair roared. “You could put him off a bit. Do not be so eager. Make him suffer for a few minutes at least.” He snickered. “I want to see him squirm.”

  “There,” Robert announced loudly. “It is settled.” He released Grace’s hand. “Your sister has consented, and there is nothing that you can do about it.”

  “Well, there bloody well is,” Alastair shot back. “I have terms, Holland.”

  “Terms?” Robert sat up straight. “What do you mean?” he inquired with agitation in his voice.

  “I nurture intentions toward your half sister Jolene. As Grace is well aware, I have not stopped thinking about her since the day we met. It is my intention to begin corresponding with her by letter,” he announced. His chest puffed out like a peacock.

  Robert burst out in laughter. “Jolene? Oh, dear God, this should be entertaining.”

  Grace thrust her thoughts into the situation. “I write her often, Robert, and she has not met another man. Why not let Alastair try? He is, after all, a fine gentleman.”

  “Because, love, they are nothing alike. I am afraid my feisty half sister will be quite bored with him, or she will attempt to change him in some fashion like she did me.”

  “Bored?” Alastair huffed. “I’m wounded to the core by my dearest friend’s assertion.” He placed his hand over his heart and sighed. “I will make a damn good husband for any woman who wants a tender, romantic man of integrity,” he defended vehemently. “Would you rather she marries some sod like Geoffrey Chambers?”

  Alastair rose to his feet and wandered over to the decanter. He needed another drink after that jolting remark. Robert followed and came to his side, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  “No, of course not. I am sure you will make an excellent husband for any woman who will have you. If you think you can catch Jolene’s eye, I wish you the best of luck.” He paused. “Believe me, you will need it.” Robert chuckled.

  Rising from her seated position, Grace joined the two.

  “Well, I for one think Alastair has every quality any woman would want in a husband.” She leaned forward and gave Alastair a sisterly peck on his cheek. Turning to Robert, she sneered. “As for you, Robert Holland, that is a quality you will need to prove to me that you possess.” She wiggled her index finger in his face. “I am not an empty-headed,
silly girl, so be forewarned.”

  Alastair grinned watching Robert’s confident smirk disappear.

  “Well, I…”

  “No need to answer,” she replied, holding her hand up to halt Robert’s objection. “I shall expect you tomorrow evening at seven o’clock sharp. Make sure you choose an expensive restaurant. I am very picky about what I eat and expect the finest of cuisine.”

  Grace lifted her skirt and turned toward the door like a grand lady. “I will leave the two of you alone to speak about womanly pursuits.”

  After she departed, Alastair regarded Robert. “And you think I’ll need luck in my pursuits? Good luck with my sister, Holland. Frankly, you don’t have the slightest inkling of her personality.” Alastair gave him a hearty pat on his back. Robert shot a concerned glance toward the door, dropping his shoulders.

  * * * *

  As soon as Grace exited the parlor and closed the door, she brought her hand to her mouth and giggled aloud. Perhaps Jolene encouraged Robert again to spend time with her. Whatever the reason, her heart felt as if it would burst.

  She ran up the stairs to her bedchamber and sat down in the window seat. The book, still in her hand, held no interest whatsoever. It was another romantic tale for her to daydream about for hours on end. Usually reading stories about other lovers put her in the doldrums. With Robert finally giving her an ounce of attention, she could not stop smiling. In fact, her cheeks hurt. She brought her palms to her face trying to soothe her muscles.

  Her eyes surveyed the landscape while she mentally counted the years she spent cultivating a crush on Robert. The moment she first met him at sixteen, she lost her heart. Even though other young men had shown her interest in her coming out, she never found anyone else to excite her like Robert.

  Alastair met him while at university where they forged a strong friendship. Along with Robert’s cousin, they had become the three musketeers of sorts, playing with the affections of women. Though she never believed Alastair to be morally loose, he must have indulged in the spoils.

  After she had turned eighteen, a remarkable event happened. Jolene von Lamberg, a komtesse from Austria, came to their home for a visit. They quickly forged a bond, whereby Grace confessed her feelings for Robert. Jolene encouraged her not to give up hope. To everyone’s surprise, she later revealed she was Robert’s lost half sister, who had been kidnapped as a baby. The news shocked social circles in London, and the poor Holland family once again became the object of gossip.